An Argumentation of Historians

by Jodi Taylor

  ‘But … it was me that …’

  ‘That’s true and I’m grateful, but you’ve done your bit. I’ve no idea how this will go down, but you will keep your distance. I don’t want her grabbing you as a hostage, or anything like that, and if she shoots you, then Leon will come looking for me. You can wait and watch, but from the other side of the gallery. No closer than twenty feet, Max. If you won’t agree then you can wait with Dr Bairstow – who, incidentally, trusts us to get on with the job ourselves.’

  I reluctantly stepped back. ‘OK.’

  They waited while I trailed around the gallery until I was opposite Peterson’s office. Then they pulled out their weapons and moved in.

  Markham went in first, closely followed by Evans and Cox. Gallacio and Keller covered them from the door and the rest waited on either side of the corridor. They were quick and professional.

  I heard her scream. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, what’s happening?’ and through the open door I watched her attempt to jump out of her seat. Markham pushed her back again, his gun in her face. ‘Dr Peterson, sir. If you would be so good …’

  I caught a glimpse of Peterson as he stared at this invasion in astonishment. Then he pushed back his chair. Keeping his distance, he edged away along the wall, taking care to stay out of their line of fire. He was three-quarters turned away from me and I couldn’t see his face.

  The next minute they had her out of the chair and she was face down on the carpet while they secured her hands. Then they had an arm each and were dragging her out of the door.

  I was very good. I stayed safely on my side of the gallery, but she turned her head and saw me standing there.

  It was astonishing. This wasn’t the same Dottle at all and now I realised what a very clever woman she was. Suddenly – don’t ask me how – she wasn’t so hunched – her nose wasn’t so pointed – her hair wasn’t so ratty. She straightened up, tossed her hair out of her face, looked across at me … and smiled. All my former rage boiled up again. I could actually feel acid rising in my gullet. I so badly wanted to hit her. Again and again. To wipe that smile off her face. For good.

  They jerked her along towards Dr Bairstow’s office. I watched them go in. Mrs Partridge’s office was empty. Markham was leaving nothing to chance in the hostage-taking possibilities – although frankly, you’d have to have the biggest death wish in the world to try anything with Mrs Partridge. Then the door closed behind them and I was alone on the gallery.

  I was suddenly conscious of a very great need to see Leon. I called him up. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Have they got her?’

  ‘They have. Quick and quiet.’

  There was a pause. ‘Max, I can’t come to you. We’re still on lockdown.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m fine. I was worried about you.’

  ‘I’m fine, too, but you should go and talk to Peterson. Find out how he is.’

  Shit. I’d forgotten about Peterson. It was too late, anyway. I don’t know where she came from, but as I looked across the gallery, Miss Lingoss was just closing his door behind her. On any other day, I would have found that quite interesting.

  Whatever was happening in Dr Bairstow’s office was happening without me and I found I didn’t really care. In lieu of Leon, I headed towards the other place I felt safe.

  Rosie Lee looked up as I entered. ‘What’s happening? They told me to stay in here and I’ll be wanting to go home soon.’

  I looked at the clock. ‘Ten past two. I’m astonished you stayed this late. You’re usually out of the door by now so as to make your five o’clock finishing time.’

  ‘My life was a lot easier when you were trapped in 1399.’

  ‘So was mine. Stick the kettle on.’

  ‘It’s your turn.’

  ‘Stick the kettle on or I’ll make sure you’re still here this time next week.’

  There was a lot of kettle banging for the next few minutes but we got there in the end.

  I took my mug to the window to wait for the appearance of the Time Police. Dr Bairstow must have finished his letter by now. They could be here any minute.

  They were late. I’d finished my tea and was considering embarking on negotiations for another when a squat black pod appeared. This one was much smaller than usual. It looked what it was. A prison. Four armoured men marched out. Their visors were down. That and the antennae sprouting from their helmets gave them the sinister look of blind insects. This must be one of their clean-up squads. The ones you never want to meet.

  I watched Evans go to greet them. They talked for a few minutes and then set off around the outside of the building. I couldn’t see from up here, but I could imagine faces lining the windows. Everyone would know something was up.

  I watched them disappear from sight, round to the front of the building. Faintly, I heard the front doors opening.

  I don’t know what made me do it, but I set down my mug and left the room. Promising myself I’d stay well out of things, I leaned over the bannisters and watched them emerge through the vestibule.

  Evans led them through the Hall. They marched in two pairs of two – in step, even as they climbed the stairs. I watched them pause at the outer door and knock. Cox let them in.

  Everything went quiet again.

  I stood in the corner of the gallery, just outside R&D. Everything was silent. I had no idea what was going on in Dr Bairstow’s office. I could imagine her somehow breaking free, killing eight armed men, overcoming Dr Bairstow and his canon and escaping out of the window. Had anyone even thought of that? Just to put my mind at rest, I trotted around the gallery and peered out of a window.

  Of course someone had thought of that. An armoured and visored guard stood silently on the steps looking around him. For God’s sake, Maxwell, get a grip. I retired back to my corner and waited. I don’t know for how long.

  And then the world started up again.

  Mrs Partridge’s door opened. Evans and Cox appeared.

  Everything went smoothly. I could barely see her for armed figures around her. Evans and Cox were in front, going on ahead. Then two Time Police officers. Then Dottle – or whatever her bloody name was – sandwiched between the other two officers with Keller and Gallacio bringing up the rear. Markham ranged up and down, checking this way and that.

  Below, the vestibule door opened, and the remaining officer crossed the Hall and began to climb the stairs, weapon raised in case of trouble. He paused at the top of the stairs, checked one last time and nodded the all-clear. The procession marched past him and he fell in behind.

  I stared, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck lift. Something was wrong. Something wasn’t right. And suddenly I had it. Only four officers had left the Time Police pod.

  It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Or it was everyone’s fault – take your pick. The Time Police thought he was one of ours. We thought he was one of theirs.

  I wasn’t stupid enough to burst out of the shadows shouting, ‘Wait,’ because that would just get me shot. Many, many times. I remember I eased my weight onto the balls of my feet, prior to uttering a warning – I can’t remember what I was going to say because subsequent events pushed it out of my mind – but it was too late anyway.

  He had his weapon switched to single shot. Without seeming to take any aim at all, he fired at the two officers on either side of Dottle. They went straight down.

  He fired again and Gallacio and Cox dropped to the floor. Markham was racing around the gallery shouting instructions as he came.

  Someone was returning fire but I wasn’t watching. I was watching Dottle. She didn’t hesitate, breaking free and running down the stairs to the half landing, taking them two at a time and then straight up the other side. Turning left, she disappeared into the gloom.

  I went after her like a greyhound. Bullets were flying everywhere but I knew for a certainty that none would hit me. Because Lisa Bloody Dottle was escaping and there was no way I could allow that.

>   Behind me I could hear shouting. All the alarms went off. And then I was through the fire door and standing on a hot, dusty, dead-fly-speckled landing. The door slammed behind me, cutting off all sound. It was a hefty door. All our fire doors are hefty, but this one was at the end of the R&D corridor and could survive a nuclear blast. And, for all I know, had done so in the past.

  I stood in the silence, listening. Had she fled up? Or down? Down, surely. There was nothing up there but the roof. Down the stairs led to the car park, fresh air and freedom.

  I turned to my left and began to descend.

  Three steps later I stopped. I don’t know why. I stopped moving, but I also stopped reacting and started thinking.

  We’d caught her unawares. I’d seen the shock on her face. She’d been taken completely by surprise. She had no idea the device had been discovered. So the device wasn’t transmitting to her. And if not to her – then to whom?

  Well, I think we all know the answer to that one.

  So – never mind who. Where? Markham had said he thought it wouldn’t have a long range, so somewhere quite close then. The woods above St Mary’s would be good. Someone could easily hide up there and remain undiscovered. But was it close enough for a rescue to be attempted at such short notice? Barely an hour had passed since I’d made the discovery. And how had he got into the grounds unseen. Yes, Markham had a full team escorting Dottle, but he wouldn’t have left the monitors unattended. Someone would have noticed.

  I had a sudden vision of Dottle with an enormous plateful of sandwiches and other goodies, telling me some rigmarole about pulling an all-nighter so she could impress Thirsk and Halcombe. She’d stood in front of me, her pink face radiating earnestness and an anxiety to do well and I’d swallowed it. Hook, line and sinker. She’d lied over and over again and I’d believed every word she’d said to me. On that occasion, she’d been heading towards the stairs. She’d been going up. To the roof.

  And that was where she was heading now. Ronan would be covering her retreat. Was it possible one man could overcome Markham and his team? To say nothing of the Time Police? Even with the element of surprise – could he do it?

  Not my problem. I closed my mind to everything else. Markham could handle all that. That was his job. My job was to prevent Dottle getting away.

  I turned, discarded speed in favour of stealth, and crept up the stairs towards the roof.

  I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there. I was completely unarmed and a trifle wobbly because even the equivalent of gaol fever can do that to a girl. On the other hand, Dottle was still in restraints. Her hands were tied behind her back so she couldn’t run fast, climb up or down, or throw anything at me, and she wasn’t armed. I told myself the odds were on my side.

  The fire door to the roof was wide open. I could see bright sunlight and blue sky. There might have been birds singing – I don’t know. I could hear only my own quiet footsteps and the thump of my own heart.

  I reached the door and stood to one side, thinking. If it was me, I would stand behind the door, wait until my pursuer was crossing the threshold and then kick it shut with all my might. With luck, the metal door would catch them in the face, possibly render them unconscious, break their nose and even knock them backwards down the stairs.

  Two could play at that game.

  I stood listening. Complete silence.

  I took two steps forwards, raised my right leg, and kicked the door as hard as I could. It slammed back, rebounded off the wall and I had to jump aside before it hit me. Bugger. She hadn’t been hiding behind the door. She was out on the roof somewhere.

  And the slamming door hadn’t been quiet. She would know I was here. What could she do to me?

  She could conceal herself behind the chimneys and play hide and seek. But why? The longer she was up here the greater the chance of recapture. What was the point? Unless this was just the result of blind panic – the urge to run as far and fast as possible – she was trapped up here. All I had to do was close the fire door – there’s no access from the outside – and wait for reinforcements to turn up.

  The answer came hard on that thought.

  Oh my God. Was there a pod up here? Was it possible – was it actually possible that someone who might have a small pod with a camouflage device could have been living on our roof? I had no idea how long Ronan could have been up here, but long enough, apparently.

  I couldn’t believe it, but it made perfect sense. He’d been up here all the time. No one ever came up here – he could have spent his days lolling around in the sunshine as she brought him tasty snacks. Like a bloody holiday. The Time Police had been scouring the timeline for him and he’d been here all along. Was this was the reason Rigby and Lorris – the two most incompetent pod operators in History happened to have St Mary’s coordinates programmed in? I’d wondered at the coincidence and then forgotten it.

  So Dottle had been spying and he’d been up here listening. Between them, they’d got just about everything covered. No wonder he couldn’t be found. He was on our bloody roof. Any trace of his pod would have been lost among the signatures of our own pods and even if it hadn’t, everyone would have assumed it was only an echo. Now, far too late, I remembered the Time Police officer looking for Adrian and Mikey. He’d reported echoes everywhere. Including on the roof.

  Ronan had probably been up here the whole bloody time. We’d been sheltering Clive Ronan. We’d even bloody fed him. I was a cauldron of fury. Hideous things were bubbling to the surface. She would suffer for this. This was for Helen.

  I took a deep breath and stepped out.

  The heat hit me immediately. The familiar long roof stretched out in front of me. I saw clumps of chimneys at regular intervals. They’d been put in when St Mary’s was rebuilt after the Civil War. Except for the big one over there. The original chimney for the big fireplace in the Hall. The one I’d watched being built six hundred odd years ago. It was blocky and massive. That’s where she’d be hiding.

  I wanted her to know she was trapped so I slammed the door closed behind me. Keeping well away from the parapet – because it’s not high and I didn’t want her jumping out at me and pushing me over – I set off to find her.

  I was actually feeling quite confident. There were twigs and small stones and all the debris dropped by birds over the years, but Mr Strong was efficient and conscientious. There was nothing up here that could be used as a weapon and she still had her hands tied.

  So – the burning question – where was his pod. And would she have access? If she did then she might already be inside and that would be a bit of a bugger because all she had to do was sit tight. And if, somehow, Ronan had got away downstairs, he could be pounding up the stairs at this very moment. And he was very definitely armed. I might actually have only seconds before he turned up.

  Throwing caution to the winds – I’m an historian and it’s in my job description – I ran across the roof, straight towards the big, central chimney.

  She’d anticipated me. I was only half way there when she shot out from behind a smaller chimney stack, cannoned into me and sent me flying. I rolled across the hot roof. Something kicked me in the back. And again in the side. I tried to roll away but she followed me, kicking and stamping and shrieking at me.

  The only thing that saved me was that she was wearing those sensible court shoes so beloved by women who like their footwear to be stylish yet practical during their working day. I on the other hand was wearing my boots. Beloved by women who like to kick the living shit out of people during their working day.

  She was kicking out so hard that one shoe flew off and landed a good distance away. It didn’t stop her. She just swapped legs.

  I stopped rolling away and rolled towards instead, grabbing her foot and twisting. She fell on top of me and now I had her because she couldn’t get up.

  I heaved myself painfully to my feet and refrained from returning the favour boot-wise. The mood I was in, I would have killed her.
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br />   Careful to keep my distance, I wiped blood off my lip and told her to stay still.

  She managed to push herself into a sitting position and we both glared at each other.

  I thought I was remarkably restrained. ‘I really don’t like you.’

  She was dirty and dusty and yet she still managed to smile. ‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. You don’t like me because I’m exactly like you, aren’t I? Manipulating every situation to my advantage. Lying and deceiving to get what I want. Sacrificing others. Just as you do. We’re actually very alike, you and I, don’t you think?’

  Even her voice was different. Lower in pitch. More confident. The voice of someone who knew the next person through the door would be her accomplice and I’d be dead.

  ‘We’re not alike in any way.’

  ‘Oh, but we are.’

  ‘No, we’re not. I could kill you for what you’ve done to Peterson.’

  She shrugged. ‘And yet another similarity. I will kill you for what you’ve done to Ronan.’

  ‘What? What I did to him? How deranged are you?’

  Suddenly she was furious, struggling up onto her knees.

  ‘He trusted you. I warned him you were a slippery two-faced bitch and he wouldn’t listen. He trusted you. Do you know how difficult that is for him? He never trusts anyone. Bairstow was his friend and he killed Annie Bessant. Ronan broke his heart over her. He grieved for her. He came to you. He trusted you and you betrayed him as well. Everyone betrays him in the end.’

  I felt an astonishing need to defend myself.

  ‘It wasn’t me. It wasn’t St Mary’s. It was the Time Police.’

  ‘You were the bait. You were the trap. You’re a dishonest, deceitful bitch who uses everyone around her and doesn’t care about the cost. How many people died over the years because of you. You let Helen Foster die …’

  ‘Ronan killed Helen Foster. Don’t you put that on me. I was there …’

  ‘You were there and you did nothing. Everyone said so. Even Peterson said it. You do nothing and people die all around you.’